Proximo: A Gladiator
by Funkmaster21
Summary: Proximo is excited for his last Gladiator fight, but when he steps into the arena he finds a challenge that even the greatest gladiator in Rome cannot fight. Action story, prequel on Proximo's life when he was a Gladiator. Please Review


Proximo didn't look back as he started up the ramp leading to the arena. In fact, he jogged. He was eager for the fight to begin and gripped the hilt of his short sword tightly. He was excited.

He jogged on the spot and jabbed the air in anticipation as he waited for the huge heavy doors opened.

Finally, he heard the all-too familiar creak of the huge wooden gate opening. He waited for it to fully open before stepping forward. He couldn't even hear the cheers and liveliness of his fellow gladiator's behind him, so ready he was for the battle ahead.

When the doors had fully opened, Proximo stepped into the huge arena, reveling in the applause the crowd gave him. He took it all in. He waved at his audience, throwing his blade in the air and catching it stylishly, gaining him more applause. He knew how to manipulate the mob, and he knew they were all his. They would help him in the fight ahead.

He felt the sand grit under his sandals as he waited for his opponent to enter. Of course, he'd had victory in this very arena many times, enjoying the ruthless and brutal kills he distributed to his foes, but this time it was different. This time he wasn't fighting for the audience, for the kill, not even for survival. He was fighting for his freedom.

After a gladiator had completed enough trials, had scored enough victories in the name of murderous 'entertainment' the Emperor himself granted freedom.

The thought made his heart beat faster and allowed himself a deep breath to calm himself. The mob fancied him the best gladiator in all of Rome. He was about to prove them right.

Actually, he could hardly remember being free. As far as he could remember he fought. Proximo was a born gladiator. His mind and muscles were honed to the art of killing.

He was wielding only a gladius, a short sword designing for getting in quickly, and thrusting into the flesh of his enemy. It was his favored style, and though he received criticism for not using a shield, he knew the big hunk of iron would only slow his usual dexterous stance.

As a result, the mob usually threw a huge, lumbering armored fighter his way, his opposite to entertain the masses, as a gamble to prove which was better, speed or power? The fact that Proximo was still standing meant he proved the theory wrong. Still the crowd enjoyed the spectacle, and Proximo wasn't complaining.

Proximo wore only the lightest leather armor, preferring to move around the fighter quickly, and perform evasive moves.

It was a nauseatingly hot day, as usual and the crowds were there at all heights of the area, fanning themselves from the heat. The irony of the 'civilized' empire was not lost on Proximo, as he considered why they were there in the first place.

Still, he shrugged as always did, and concentrated on the battle ahead, allowing his mind to enter a pre-battle trance as he waited for the opponent to step through the opposite gate.

Finally, the gates shuddered open, and forced their way across the sand, opening to reveal exactly what Proximo had expected for his potentially last fight.

The huge opponent stepped into the arena, Proximo raised an eyebrow when he saw the man fully. He was covered in head to toe in armor. Proximo's honed eyes scanned the man for any potential weaknesses but couldn't find any gaps in the armor, his face especially was covered completely in iron, with only a small slit from which to see.

The fact that the gladiator could even move in the impenetrable shield was a testament to his obvious great strength.

Proximo looked at his weapon doubtfully as the rival gladiator lumbered into the sunlight. The crowd went wild.

He couldn't see how the small blade could even dent the thick armor, even with his years of fight experience. He felt worried for a moment. Only a moment. He waved to the crowd, gaining their favor again. He wondered if this opponent was fighting for his freedom too.

The two met in the center of the arena and looked at each other expressionless, (or at least that's what Proximo thought as he couldn't see the man's face). Proximo noticed he was carrying a rather devastating axe. Well over a meter in length with a huge, sharp axe head. He frowned but thought nothing of it.

As usual the pair faced the Emperor and raised their weapons as was expected of them.

"Caesar! We who are about to die salute you!" They screamed loudly at the bored Emperor sitting in the box above them. Each gladiator trying to shout louder than the other to prove their loyalty, as they were taught.

The Emperor simply waved his hand, clearly tired of the spectacle. In Proximo's experience, the Emperor only turned up to the events for the sake of appearance.

"Proceed." The Emperor said, weary already of the spectacle and signaling the start of the fight. Proximo wondered why the event master didn't introduce the fighters to the crowd, he realized he probably did so before either fighter even entered the arena.

Both fighters saluted again, and then stepped back from each other and the fight was on. Proximo eyed his opponent's movements and looked for any noticeable lack in his defenses. He couldn't find any. He groaned quietly, and the crowd seemed to hear him, and they launched into devastating mockery, taunting the young fighter, clearly favoring the impenetrable gladiator. For a moment, Proximo was inclined to agree, unless he could find some way of getting through.

Proximo only shrugged at the jeering and he circled the slow moving fighter, staying clear of the long reach of his axe. He was at least confident that he could outrun the sluggish gladiator if necessary. Each fighter didn't take their eyes off each others, both waiting for the battle to begin. Finally, Proximo indulged.

Charging straight at his rival Proximo jabbed quickly, aiming for the chest, before the fighter could even get his axe up. Had there been no armor covering the usually defensive chest the sword would have sliced cleanly into flesh, but of course, the blade bounced off the armor quite harmlessly, sending the small blade wide and making Proximo very vulnerable.

The armored man raised his axe and sliced the axe waist height, narrowing missing Proximo as he jumped back. As the axe followed through, Proximo jumped back in close and stabbed and sliced the armor many times, still causing no damage. He skipped back harmlessly before the gladiator could bring his axe back to a striking position.

Stumped, Proximo fell back and considered his next move. He simply couldn't find any weakness in the armor and he was beginning to lose patience.

Parrying the huge incoming axe, Proximo leapt in again, taking advantage of the slow speed of the fighter, jabbing as hard as he could in the armor, still making not a dent. This time, instead of bringing the axe back, the huge fighter barreled into Proximo unexpectedly, the huge weight causing Proximo to fall to the floor. The crowd went wild again in bloodthirsty anticipation.

Feeling exposed on the floor, Proximo scrambled to get to his feet, desperately blocking the follow-through attack which was aiming to slice the man while he was down. Proximo found his feet with finesse and suddenly realized the strength of the move. If he could get his opponent to the floor, he doubted he would be able to get up again. He would be at his mercy. He enjoyed the image.

Backing up a few feet, Proximo suddenly ran forward full charge, jumping at the last second and charging into the stunned man, but as hard as he hit the giant, as hard as his body flew in, he stood still, staggering only slightly, amazingly unaffected by the charge. After a brief tangle with the fighter, Proximo was pushed down to the floor again, parrying and blocking blows, close to him.

With incredible finesse Proximo sprang to his feet again, he still hadn't done any damage to the huge man but his confidence had been restored. For in the brawl, Proximo found a new hope, something that could potentially save the fight and his life.

Proximo stepped close to the man and batted away the huge axe with skill from years of experience. He stood, staring at the thick armor, searching for more of the weakness he knew he had found.

When the axe came back again, Proximo ducked gracefully under the sharp blade, and came up, sword flashing and sliced through a leather binding he had seen, he had guessed the strap had been holding and binding the strong armor together. If he cut through all the straps, he knew the armor would simply fall off, leaving the fighter quite unprotected and at his mercy.

Proximo grinned as he easily sliced through the thick leather strap. It made no affect to the armor. Yet. But at least he knew what to look for.

Gracefully, he danced around the huge frustrated fighter, dodging and diving any incoming attacks as he nicked any flashes of leather he saw. Slowly he noticed the armor starting to buckle. He knew it was working, and judging from the crowds roaring they did too.

He weaved in and out of continuous blows against him, slipping behind the confused fighter and hitting the straps at his back.

He allowed himself a quick chuckle as he sliced through one more hidden leather binding and noticed the armor shake.

Blocking at an incoming attack and slicing at the fighter's covered face for good measure, Proximo grabbed on his opponent's chest armor and heaved with all his might. Sure enough the frontal armor flew off, exposing his naked chest. The rest of the armor, apparently being held up by the chest plate also in turn fell off easily. It was a chain reaction leaving the fight quite vulnerable, leaving only his helmet.

Proximo fancied his chances more and more, and grinned as he gripped his sword again. He knew the battle wasn't over yet, but encouraged by the crowd he mockingly beckoned for the opponent, taunting him to make the attack, gaining himself more cries of laughter from the crowd.

Enraged of losing his armor, the still-masked gladiator attacked with the huge axe, sending it high and aiming to decapitate Proximo with great strength.

Dropping to a knee, Proximo redirected the axe, instead of blocking it, sending it wide and opening up his arms in a Christ-like pose, opening his defenses.

Rising up like a pouncing lion, Proximo delivered his return blow and drove his trusty sword deep into the flesh of his enemy.

He stumbled backwards, almost instantly spitting blood. Proximo quickly and mercilessly kicked the man to the floor in front of him to deliver his final attack. Perhaps of his life. The ground shook as he slammed to the hard, sandy stone.

He looked to the Emperor expectantly, silently begging the man to allow him to end the match. When the emperor's lazy hand shot out and pointed down, Proximo wasted no time in taking the mortally wounded man's axe and bringing it down heavily on his exposed neck, decapitating him, suddenly and abruptly ending his short life.

The crowd cheered wildly. Proximo raised the axe triumphantly and enjoyed his attention and praise. It was all over. Wasn't it? He looked around. Nothing was different. He had done this countless of times before, but this was supposed to be his last fight. He didn't know what he was expecting. Was he expecting the emperor to come and shake his hand himself? No, he told himself. Don't be ridiculous.

As he listened to the crowd applaud he finally realized with agonizing recognition. The mob would never allow him to leave his life as a gladiator. He wouldn't get his freedom this day. His popularity and reputation as a ruthless killer had finally beaten him. He threw the axe to the ground in frustration. It buried itself in the sand.

He looked up to the stands. The emperor had already left. The doors behind him opened, giving him his cue to leave the arena, back into the cells with his fellow gladiators and trainers. He stoically stepped forward, crossing the blood stained arena.

He cursed himself for not realizing earlier. He wouldn't get his freedom. He was always to be a gladiator.

But, as he strode through the huge gates, dispite himself he realized he still enjoyed the sound of the crowd's cheers. He found this odd. He had earned his freedom, and he wanted it more than being a gladiator.

Didn't he?


End file.
